


Pregnant and Needy

by captaincanarynsfw (flabbergabst)



Series: Captain Canary After Dark [7]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22750228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flabbergabst/pseuds/captaincanarynsfw
Summary: Sara is pregnant with very sexual needs. Leonard has no choice but to give her all she needs, right?
Relationships: Sara Lance/Leonard Snart
Series: Captain Canary After Dark [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1137911
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Pregnant and Needy

**Author's Note:**

> another oldie

Pregnancy is one hell of a strange, beautiful, messy, wild, fucked-up journey. And Leonard knows this.

He’s done his reading; _What to Expect When You’re Expecting_ and a whole other plethora of baby books bought from the local bookstore, articles, WebMD and some selective dabbling in Wikipedia. He’s sat through Barry’s long, droning recounts of Iris’ pregnancy, Felicity’s thirty-minute graphic lecture about how childbirth had torn her up in a lot of very unsavory, _very_ unmentionable place. He’s done his reading and his research and his listening, for hours upon hours. Poring over whatever he can get his hands on at work until Mick mocks him for it.

He’d thought he was prepared, to deal with a pregnant Sara and all her new, peculiar idiosyncrasies, her roulette wheel of constantly shifting emotions and irrational whims. He really had.

As is generally the case, he’d been dead wrong.

He gets home from work early one evening in November when it’s still light out thanks to one of their clients cancelling their scheduled appointment for the security checking of their property. Mick insisted he goes home immediately instead of offering to drink, keeping in mind of Sara waiting for her partner. She’s only 3 months in, but no one really wants to test the extent of her hormones yet.

Sara is standing at the counter in the kitchenette when he steps inside, and turns when she hears him toss his keys down on the coffee table with a metallic _clatter_.

“Hey,” he greets, and she gives him a smile back, though it seems forced, off. A bit stiff.

“Hey. You’re home early.”

She’s making herself something – what looks like a sandwich, Leonard thinks. Probably piled with the anchovies and tuna she’s inexplicably acquired a taste for recently, which he’d joked must mean their kid’s going to come out with gills or something. She’s changed out of her clothes from the small dance studio she manages, into a loose red tank top and a pair of lazy grey sweatpants, feet bare. And there’s nothing particularly remarkable about her appearance – other than, you know, the fact that he always finds her fucking gorgeous, regardless of what she wears.

Except the flush on her cheeks; beet red and standing out not at all inconspicuously against her pale skin. And when he looks closer he swears he can see sweat beading on her brow, making her skin catch the light and gleam faintly. 

“How was your day?” she asks, words terse, clipped, and that’s all he needs to hear to know something is up; he can read her better than anyone, probably knows her better than he knows himself. 

“Uneventful,” he quips, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it. “Better, now that I’m with you.”

Sara grins, lowering her eyes back down to her food, and it makes his stupid heart stutter, give out inside him for a moment like a little malfunctioning machine. He has a half-second-long flicker of desire to go to her, kiss her on the cheek, hold her and give her the whole honey-I’m-home spiel, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Since her pregnancy, she’s been wary of who goes near her--or touch her. Nobody wanted a broken hand so when touching, he always asks if she’s comfortable.

A stable home life for their kid is what they both agreed they wanted for them. And he loved living with Sara. Watching her grow with their child; grow and blossom and become more beautiful by the day.

Loving her. Loving her and being so close to her and knowing how she loves him too.

He approaches, frowning. “You okay?”

Sara glances over at him, feigning nonchalance but reacting far too quickly to actually _seem_ nonchalant. “Huh?”

“You… look warm,” is all he says. “You feel all right? If you got a fever I-”

“Yeah,” she hisses, curling in on herself defensively. He thinks she goes even redder right then, when he comes to a stop beside her, refusing to meet his eyes. She slathers mayonnaise onto a piece of wheat bread, using the knife with far more aggression than she needs. “I’m fine.”

She’s not fine. This is a textbook case of _not fine_. He can only assume something went wrong at work, or that he did something.

“Did I… do somethin’ wrong, or-”

“No,” she bites out, and sighs, muttering under her breath, “No, you haven’t done… anything. And maybe that’s the problem.”

He blinks. “What?”

“It’s nothing. It’s just – I’m fine, Leonard.”

“You’re not fine,” he asserts, frown deepening. She still won’t look at him and admittedly, the knife situation is making him more than a little nervous for his wel lbeing. “Look, if I did something… at least tell me what it is, so I can-”

“I’m horny, okay?” she cuts him off, sharply, rounding on him all at once. He freezes, eyes widening, and she exhales, looking equal parts embarrassed and livid about the fact. “I just… My hormones are out of control, and I can’t stop thinking about sex. And that’s… what it is.” She swallows, shaking her head but not turning back to her sandwich. “All day I’ve just been so… hot. Even at the studio. I-I was like two seconds from pouncing on the guard. My god.”

“That’s…” he blurts out, dumbly, somewhere between stunned and amused. “That’s what’s wrong. You’re horny.”

“Yes,” Sara spits, eyes watering with embarrassment. She folds her arms across her stomach, just barely obscuring the three-month-old bump growing there, larger by the day. “There. Are you happy now? That’s what’s wrong.”

Oh.

Oh. Okay.

He’d thought he’d done his research, reading up on all sorts of weird cravings and hormonal changes and other sundry pregnancy side effects – but somehow he’d missed the chapter titled Amplified Libido: When Your Partner Suddenly Wants to Bone Everyone Within a Five-Mile Radius. And so he stands there dumbly for a moment in semi-shock, mouth moving without articulating any words, so still that Sara fidgets uncomfortably beneath his gaze, shifting her weight from leg to leg and, he swears, pressing her thighs together to stop up the flow of desire between them.

“I’ve tried to take my mind off it,” she continues, lowering her eyes and looking down at her body, suddenly self-conscious. “I took, like, three cold showers in a row. And meditated. And I… got myself off a few times, and nothing’s helping. I’ve tried _everything_.”

He clenches his jaw. He is definitely thinking about Sara like that; imagining her slipping her hand between her thighs and fucking herself with her fingers and moaning wantonly, writhing, desperate to come, desperate for any kind of relief.

“Well…” Leonard swallows, throat tightening, head swimming, a heavy, sweet ache forming inside of him, somewhere low in his belly, and shrugs. “Haven’t tried me.”

Sara stares at him, for a moment, speechless – even though somehow he can tell the thought has crossed her mind today, probably more than once.

“I have been waiting for you all day, you know,” she replied. A smirk on her face.

She glowers at him, twin spots of pink still glowing on her cheeks like embers, and he can see through her tank top that she’s not wearing a bra, that her nipples have gone rock-hard underneath the thin fabric like little pebbles and _God_ , he can’t bear to imagine how wet she is, how bad she wants him to relieve her, satiate that dirty hunger. He comes to a stop in front of her and she doesn’t back away, and he swears he can hear her breath hitch in her throat. “You know I’m more than willing to run through the entire Central City to get to you, right?

“Is that supposed to turn me on or something?”

“You don’t need anybody to turn you on, Sara, you’re already goin’ crazy,” he chides gently, and takes a step closer, and he can see the barely-concealed want in her eyes, irises eaten up by huge, black pupils. “It’s not a big deal. I can help.”

She swallows, letting out a shaky breath. He takes yet another step towards her and finally she finds the willpower to back up, further and further until he has her pressed lightly up against the wall, eyes intent, brow furrowed with concern. She’s positively glowing red now, from the crown of her head to her neck and lower, inevitably lower. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and he watches, mesmerized, so close to her it’s almost jarring; he’d forgotten what it feels like, being this close to her, the way she pulls him in, stronger than any force he’s ever known. As inevitable as gravity.

“Len,” she breathes, her body giving in to its desires, mind shutting down, eyes going hazy. She squirms, swallowing again. “Stop stalling.£

“Let me help you.” His voice is a plea now. He reaches out, placing his hands on her hips, just to the sides of her burgeoning stomach, offering himself up to her. “Let me take care of you, okay?”

His lips are at her neck, then, and he presses them down tentatively, sucking at her pulse point, feeling his stubble against her skin, listening to the soft moan that looses itself from her throat like the most beautiful music. Her eyelids flutter shut, her body caving and melting against him.

“Leonard…”

“You can have me. Anytime of the day,” he promises, sincere, though he has to admit he really fucking loves talking dirty to her, so filthy and explicit and detailed he could make the angels in heaven blush. “You have me. Any part of me you want. My hands. My mouth.” He pauses, smirking against her throat and feeling her little hands creep up to grasp at his back, and the heat of her, _God_ , she’s burning against him like an inferno of a girl, writhing and gasping. “My cock.”

She makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. “ _Jesus_ , Leonard…”

“All you gotta do is ask,” he purrs, and his mouth is by her ear now, nipping her earlobe, pricking her and making her rise up on her toes. “Say the word and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything.” His voice is raspy, deep, so deep it sends a chill through her. “Anything. I promise.”

“This…” she sputters, looking at him with sudden resoluteness. “This is just gonna be fast, don’t worry.”

“Really? Only one round?” he murmurs, feigning surprise.

And something snaps in Sara; breaks wide open and sends the beast caged inside her stampeding out, lights a determined fire in her eyes that makes them glow like two blue-black coals. He can see it, the precise instant she makes up her mind; the instant she gives into the urges of her body, the _need_ brewing inside her like a storm.

“Oh if we don’t go more than one round,” she pants, half-barring her teeth and kissing him, so forcefully it startles Leonard, “there’s gonna be hell to pay.”

He raises his eyebrows.

He’s starting to think he has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

But Leonard stays calm, as equanimous as ever, and lets her get her fill of him, drinking him up like a woman dying of thirst and they have that perfect synchrony they’ve always had. She runs her hand through his hair and his hands roam her body, pawing at her breasts over her tank top, then creeping underneath the hem at the bottom, brushing ever-so-lightly across the swell of her stomach reverently. Sometimes he still can’t believe it’s real, that this child is theirs, that they made it together, formed it from nothing and now it’s _here_ , growing inside Sara, that little seed he’d planted taking root and changing her and making its presence more noticeable by the day. Sometimes it makes his head spin to try to comprehend the immensity of this, what they’ve done. This unseen, powerful being they’ve created.

So he doesn’t. All he can think of, right then, is how much hethis. Kissing her. Touching her.

Being with her. God, really just _her._

After a while he draws away, hands still exploring her body and creeping further and further south, and then without warning he reaches up, peeling up her tank top and revealing her bare breasts to him; peaked with stiff pink nipples, pillowy flesh filling the palms of his hands and almost brimming out of them. And he’s always fucking loved her breasts but now, now they fascinate him in a way he can’t put into words, and when he touches them they’re markedly heavier, larger, swelling with the rest of her – because of him. All because of him. She gasps at the rush of cold air on her stomach, goosebumps patterning her skin, and the sound morphs into a moan when he reaches his hands up, catching her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and rolling them gently, sweetly; toying with them. He does it tenderly, careful not to hurt her; he knows how sensitive she is all over, breasts included, knows that the hormones have done and will continue to do a number on her.

But she doesn’t show any sign of pain. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“ _A-ah_ ,” she gasps, hips canting forward instinctively, leaning into his touch. “Oh God, oh – I…”

She doesn’t elaborate beyond that. Leonard smirks, keeping up his ministrations. “Did you go to the studio…free like this? Give everybody a show?”

“Took it off when I got home,” she manages to choke out, breathing ragged. “It was too tight. They’re… bigger, now.”

He swallows, the words traveling straight to his cock, which is aching and straining against the front of his pants now, a bull in its cage, ready and rearing to go. Maybe it’s twisted, perverse to find this erotic – all the changes in her, in her breasts and stomach and waist, but they’re erotic and fascinating and all _his_. She’s like this because of him, because he gave her his child and he doesn’t know if there’s a single fucking thing in the world that’s hotter than that, than watching her grow, than seeing her look so completely, totally, undoubtedly _his_.

After a moment Sara manages to steady her voice, shuddering beneath his touch. “I can feel everything. So much more. Everything’s… so sensitive, I can’t-” She whimpers, and he kisses the needy sound, tasting that need on her lips. “I can’t stop throbbing. All over. Everywhere.”

He clenches his jaw, massaging her nipples and biting back a moan of his own. “Sara…”

Her hand darts out to grab his, suddenly, yanking it away from her breast and dragging it down past the thick waistband of her sweatpants, then further into them, between her legs, where she holds it, as if to prove a point. It happens so fast it doesn’t register for Leonard for a moment, and when it does he grinds his teeth harder, feeling his cock begin to positively leak.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s most _definitely_ bitten off more than he can chew tonight.

“This is what it’s doing to me,” she pants against his lips, sighing as he glides his hand up and down her folds, cupping her mound and keeping his other hand on her breast, attending to it idly. “I-it’s driving me crazy, Leonard.”

She’s wet – wetter than he’s ever felt. Sopping wet. _Drenched_ , her juices smeared thickly on the insides of her thighs, flowing out of her in abundance; so much it’s obscene, downright filthy. She’s so wet his hand slides across her slippery folds effortlessly, from the base of her pussy to the hood of her clit, feeling the heat brewing there, that simmering lake of lava, her cunt so hot and voracious that it seems to almost want to draw his fingers inside. It sets his head reeling, mouth watering, want fizzling in his blood, and he swallows heavily, trying to stamp down the fire inside him, keep from pushing her back against the wall and fucking her with his fingers until she’s weak and keening and trembling – but he doesn’t.

He won’t. That’s not how he wants this to go down, not after he’s waited so long to have her again. Have _this_.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmurs under his breath, his chest clenching almost painfully. He brushes his lips across hers, stilling his hand between her legs, and she inhales sharply, giving a mewl of dissatisfaction. “It’s _this_ bad?”

She nods, rising up on her toes again and hissing when his thumb catches her clit, nerve endings jumping in response. “I couldn’t… sit still. All day, I-” She cuts herself off, gulping audibly. “I can’t wait any more.”

“Then you don’t have to,” Leonard declares, suddenly determined, and winks. “Anything for my Assassin. Let’s get you taken care of.”

And that’s that. Sara doesn’t protest, and Leonard doesn’t stop again, ask her for permission, make sure she’s certain. He knows she’s certain. In fact he’s not sure he’s seen Sara look more certain of anything in the time he’s known her, and so before either of them can say another word he’s lifted her up in his arms, letting her coil her thin legs around him to anchor her body to his and holding her there, absorbing her surprised squeak with a kiss. She’s heavier, sure; not much but too much to go unnoticed, and he doesn’t care, cherishes the familiar strain in his muscles as they hold her, the feeling of her skin on his. He’s careful, too; careful not to press too much on her belly, not to falter or drop her or squeeze her too tight.

Protect her. Keep her happy. Those are his core commands.

They kiss as he makes his way into his bedroom, and Sara manages a breathless laugh against his lips, “I hate that name.”

“You love it,” he quips, and she doesn’t argue. He knows she does, secretly.

She’ll deny it to the death. But he knows she does.

It’s hard as hell to navigate his apartment with a Sara Lance attached to him by the mouth, but Leonard makes do, and lets her down lightly onto the bed when he reaches it, spreading her out and eyeing her as he strips; not slowly, nothing to put on a show. He strips methodically, movements sharp and precise and purposeful, and she watches from below, brushing her fingers across her lower lip; the embodiment of desire, almost quivering with it. Her hair is splayed out on the bedding beneath her, a dark halo around her head, legs spread slightly as if preparing to welcome him between them, and again he runs his eyes over the growing bulge in her stomach, feeling that intense, primal urge inside him, bubbling under his skin. To protect her. Protect them both. Keep her happy and give her anything she needs even if it means crawling like a dog at her feet. _Anything_.

He falls at her side once he’s finished, resting most of his weight beside her to keep from pressing on her abdomen, and kissing her again. It isn’t long before he has her stripped too and he can bask in the sight of her naked skin, her pale, perfect fields of flesh; her breasts and stomach and shoulders, that body he thinks he knows almost better than his own, and there’s so much of it, so much of _her_ suddenly that it’s sensory overload, almost overwhelming. It feels like it’s been ages since he’s seen her like this, so long he’s been deprived, tormented. Torment – that’s what it’s been, living with her all these months. Being able to look but not touch. He kisses her deeper, so deep he thinks he can taste the darkest, most hidden parts of her, all of her. And he knows he’s never losing this again – not if he has anything to say about it.

He reaches up to cup her breasts again, peppering her collarbone with scratchy kisses. She pants, and moans when he closes his lips around one of her nipples. He pauses and meets her eyes, nipping at her jawline, catching the skin there between his teeth. “How’d you do it, Sara?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes. “Do what?”

“Touch yourself. How’d you do it?” he purrs. “Tell me.”

“What do you wanna hear?” she hisses, but her voice is still strained, airy. She shifts, rubbing her thighs together, ostensibly to generate some friction between them. Something. Anything. “That I fucked myself on my fingers until I came and imagined it was you?”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m guessing foreplay’s a no-go?”

“Stop _talking_ , Leonard,” Sara whimpers, jaw clenched, eyes closed, “I love your voice, but please make your mouth useful.”

Okay. He gets it. Foreplay is definitely a no-go.

So he eyes her, business-like as ever, pragmatic, with almost a long-suffering air about him, and deadpans, “How do you want me?”

“Eat me out,” is all Sara says, barking the order and spreading her legs for emphasis. And so he does.

He’s always been a simple man and he’s good at simple commands – exceedingly so. _Eat me out_. He can do that.

He’s always considered going down on Sara to be one of his many talents, as a matter of fact, a skill he’s honed same as any craftsman, and so he nods, descending dutifully, kissing his way up and over the gentle hill of her stomach, then venturing down to the steep, angular valley between her thighs, the rolling mound nestled there, tantalized by the geography of her body, which seems to be ever-changing in recent weeks, with all sorts of shifts and variations, her pregnancy like plate tectonics, transforming her. He loves it, all those changes. Loves _her_ , and really wants to make sure she knows that, right then.

So he drops his jaw and leans in and goes to town on her, not sparing her a bit of gentleness, not teasing her or starting slow or making her beg for his mouth; he’s pretty sure if he makes her beg now she’d probably kill him, clamp her thighs around his face and smother him to death or some other kind of cruel and unusual punishment. He kisses her like he’d kiss her other set of lips, slow and deep, savoring her scent, all that mouth-watering musk, and the taste of her – which is different, now. Different like all the rest of her, and sweeter, impossibly sweet, with new notes of flavor he doesn’t recognize. She’s changing, all the time, everyday more and more, and he loves acquainting himself with these new parts of her. All of her.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” she groans, the sound almost guttural, ripped from deep in her lungs. She reaches down, tugging at his head, yanking him closer – almost brutally, barely even flinches. Her hips buck up towards the heat of his mouth, and he can taste a fresh rush of wetness on his tongue as he laps her up with long, rough, relentless sweeps, drinking her down like honey. “O-oh God, fuck, don’t… don’t stop-”

He doesn’t. If he has any goddamn thing to say about it he won’t – ever. He’ll spend the rest of his life like this, on his knees for her, at her beck and call, and his knees and cock ache but somehow he barely cares, barely has even an echo of a thought about the fact; his body feels like some foreign, cold, robotic thing that doesn’t really exist and sure as hell doesn’t matter, not so long as he’s eating Sara out. She’s all that matters, all that’ll ever matter; the focal point of his whole world. He tongues around her folds forcefully, sucking on her labia and then her deliciously sensitive clit, feeling his stubble scrape her there and when it does she almost screams, jerking and twitching beneath his mouth. Hell she’s been almost screaming this entire time, so pent-up and frustrated all day that she’s about to burst – which she does, very quickly, as a matter of fact. So fast it startles him.

Before he even has time to get to the best part and employ any real technique she’s coming, long and hard and fast, shuddering out her release above him, screaming so loud he’s pretty sure half the city can hear her. She gushes hot into his mouth and he doubles his efforts to keep up with the flow of her and _God_ , he’s never seen her come this quickly, ever, _or_ seen her come this hard. She hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she needed to get off, and when she comes she _comes_ , so hard he thinks ‘coming’ almost isn’t powerful enough a word to describe it. It unravels her. Destroys her. Shatters her into a million little pieces all over the sheets, and he licks her through it, not stopping but backing off somewhat, feeling her delectably fresh juices spill down his chin, soak his beard. She’s everywhere. _All over_ him. He’ll taste her for days, after this.

Good. He wants to.

“Leonard!” she cries, and it’s the only thing she says that he can make out, the only thing that sounds even remotely close to English. “I – f-fu… God, don’t I… I c… ah, _ah_ -”

He wants to say something, abruptly, but he doesn’t know what. And he doesn’t think she particularly wants to hear it at this moment in time, and he keeps his mouth occupied accordingly. Normally by now he would’ve slowed down, eased back and started to retreat and let her come down, but there’s a humming in bones suddenly; a fearsome, overwhelming desire to see her come again. She needs it. She’s horny as all get out, driven crazy by hormones and so much more receptive to his touch and he’s going to do this job, give her what she needs.

So he starts again, goes back to work like he’s on the goddamn clock. Harder, faster. Decidedly more determined. He fucks into her with his tongue and doubles his efforts on her clit and slides two thick fingers into her before she’s even had time to recover properly, and her reaction is almost violent, some strange combination of trying to simultaneously push him away and tug him closer. Her body bows and buckles under the weight of her climax, crunching upward, and when he glances up at her he can see she’s propped herself up on one elbow to watch him devour her. She’s sweat-soaked, now, face so red it glows, strands of dark hair plastered to her forehead, thighs splayed apart, holding his head there like she intends to make him eat her out for hours. After a moment she falls back down and reaches a hand up, pawing at one of her breasts, so frantic for any stimulation she can get that she half-sobs, in frustration and pleasure.

“Oh fuck, fuck me, don’t-” Her voice catches in her throat, blends into a moan; a low, rough, animalistic moan, nothing high-pitched or melodic about it. She’s bucking wildly now, her whole body quivering as one wave crests and builds steadily into the next. “Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’t…”

It’s remarkable, how easy it is to undo her like this. It’s such a glorious sight to behold that he almost comes right then and there, just listening to her.

And he can’t tell her he loves her,– not right now with her mouth on her cunt, so Leonard settles for the next best thing and spells it on her with his tongue, changing up his patterns on her clit. He makes a sloppy line downward, some shitty excuse for an I, then follows with the L and O, and by the time he makes it to the V he can tell she’s on the brink again, so deliciously raw and sensitive from her first orgasm that it won’t take much to push her over the top again. She’s pulling at his slick hair like she means to rip it out of his head by the roots, the pressure between her legs building to a crescendo, a chorus of want, screaming and screeching and blinding her. She’s babbling, saying words that don’t make a whole lot of sense, might be Arabic or English or amalgamation of both.

She comes again, and again, and maybe a time after that – he isn’t sure. Everything blurs together into a dream-like haze and all he’s really aware of is the taste of her, the feeling of her wetness coating his face, soaking him so that he’s pretty goddamn sure who he belongs to. It deadens his senses until it’s all he can feel, and he isn’t sure how long it takes him to come back to himself. Might be minutes or hours. Or days.

His whole world is a deep, warm buzz when he draws away and makes his way up beside Sara, who is panting madly, borderline catatonic on the bed beside him, blissed out and very possibly on the point of _blacking_ out. She can’t seem to catch her breath and so he goes to her, kissing her neck, drawing her close, hoping it hadn’t been too much – for her. For the baby.

Before he wouldn’t have worried about things being more than she could take, because Sara could take anything he threw at her and give it back twice as good. But he has to be gentler with her now and he knows it. Softer.

Leonard swallows heavily, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, and goes to hold her, soothing, “Hey. Hey, you okay?”

“What…” she manages, somehow. “W-what do you think?”

He frowns. “That mean… yes, or-”

“ _Yes_ it means yes,” Sara breathes, and gives a loopy little laugh. “Oh my God, that was… amazing. Everything feels…” She shakes her head, bewildered. “I-I feel everything so much more. All over. I’ve never… come like that. _Ever_.”

Leonard blinks.

Well. Orgasm-boosting baby hormones. He hadn’t known those were a thing.

He hums lowly, kissing her neck, and before he can help it his eyes and creeping lower, back down to her breasts, her stomach, all the bulging, swelling parts of her. And he feels like a mad man, intoxicated by her pheromones or something but he can’t keep his hands, his mouth off them. He strokes them, massaging her breasts until they ache pleasantly, palming her stomach, cupping that growing swell protectively, so fucking _fascinated_ by it, in a million and one new ways every day. He feels drunk. Drunk on her, on her body, on all the amazing, mind-blowing, gravity-defying things it’s doing for their child.

 _Pheromones_ , he thinks again. Pheromones or some other science-y, biological shit. There must be an explanation for the way she’s bewitched him like this.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, almost slurring the words against the hollow of her throat, hands on her breasts, cupping them, feeling their increased weight. “You’re so fucking hot like this, Sara.”

She sighs. “No ‘m not. I hate it.”

His hand drops down to her stomach, cradling the barely-there swell with his hand. Imagining it bigger. Imagining _all_ of her bigger and fuller and heavier with his child, and not entirely understanding why it stirs him so. “You’re gonna be so beautiful.”

She flattens her lips into a line, lamenting, “I’m gonna be a whale.”

“You’re _gonna_ be more beautiful,” he asserts, so emphatically she raises her eyebrows. “Already are.”

Without warning Sara has made her way sideways on top of him, snapping back to herself and gathering up her wits. He lets her without question, and she kisses him for a moment, softly, before breaking away.

“You like how I look, like this?” she breathes across his lips, eyes dancing, a playful air settling over her. “It turns you on?”

“ _Hell_ yes,” he grunts, and when his cock brushes the soft inside of her thigh he suddenly remembers how hard he is, how badly he’s aching for her. “So much you don’t even know.”

“Good,” is all she says, and pulls him under again. “’Cause we’re not done yet.”

He wants to ask what she means but it’s pretty crystal clear with this new position, so he keeps his mouth shut, swallowing dryly as she pulls away, straddling him and lining his cock up with her and sinking down slowly to take him, welcoming him past the gates of her paradise. Normally Sara starts gradually when she rides him but she wastes no time now, picking up the pace rapidly, one hand on his chest to anchor her body and the other combing through her hair, tossing the strands back wildly. Her face is scrunched up with a look of intense concentration, lip bitten. So stunning his heart almost gives out right then and there and kills him.

He should’ve known this would be what she’d want – to ride him, like a stallion. And he is her stallion. And he’ll let her. Of course he will.

All Leonard can do is watch from below, give himself to her like she’d wanted, and he does. He watches her, mesmerized, mouth watering, his hands on her hips, staring again at her bouncing breasts and belly because he can’t seem to keep his eyes off them, off all that enticing plumpness, everything his seed has done to her. She looks like some kind of fucking ripening fertility goddess, and his body’s response to her feels innate now, so much more powerful; biological, because she’s the mother of his child, his partner, and goddammit if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. If _she_ isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

She’s glowing, too; all over, from head to toe. Her skin is smooth and shining and golden, her gaze beaming, eyes bright as stars, and he knows she hates it when people say that kind of cliché shit to her but she fucking _is_. Glowing like she’s producing her own light somehow.

Glowing, and growing a little light inside her that shines through her skin, radiant as a sun.

It’s only after Leonard slips out of his trance that he realizes how hard she’s riding him; fast and desperate and rough, delving down with so much force the mattress squeaks, so hard it rattles him. Clearly she wants to come again, _needs_ to, but he can’t help the surge of worry that passes through him, his sudden, instinctive concern for the unseen third party in this scenario.

“Hey,” he grinds out, biting back a moan. “Hey… Sara, cool it, slow dow-”

“Why?” she bites back, and he blinks, groaning before he can help it.

“I don’t-” He cuts himself off, gulping. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s _fine_. You’re not hurting me, baby.”

“You… you sure?” He feels a surge pass through him, feeling her walls tighten and undulate divinely around his cock, draw him deeper. He clenches his jaw again, trying to center himself, trying not to watch himself vanish inside her again and again and failing miserably. “I just don’t want you to be too rough, It might hurt you. What if-”

 _Slap_.

Leonard blinks, and suddenly there’s a weight over his mouth, pressing down against his lips.

Sara’s hand. Covering his mouth. Shutting him up by force.

“Shut up,” she hisses, echoing the sentiment aloud. “Stop… stop _talking_.”

Leonard does. Not that he’s got much choice in the matter, that is.

She doesn’t want his words tonight; she wants his dick. He got that, Sara picks up the pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. She’s close, he can tell, close to coming a third damn time in a row and looking like she could go for five more rounds and _still_ not be satisfied; some sort of succubus, fucking him for sustenance. Eventually she relieves of him his makeshift gag, just as her rhythm falters and breaks, and before he knows it she’s crumbling again, going boneless and crying out to the ceiling, screaming like a song. Getting what she wants. Taking it. Taking _him_.

She’s gone crazy. She looks insane. And she’s riding him, fucking him, truly _taking_ him, and he’s not sure he’s ever seen anything like this, ever.

He can’t decide if he’s turned on or terrified. Maybe kind of both.

“Oh God, ohGodohGod, I’m c… I-” The words get clogged in her throat, too many trying to escape at once. “Oh, oh _fuck_ -”

She’s coming again, then. She comes so fast it’s almost a blur, so fast it’s almost comical, ten times more sensitive and responsive than she’d been before, like her pregnancy has gifted her with a million new nerve endings and touch receptors, awakening parts of her neither of them had even known existed. She comes, and rides him through it, leaning her weight down on his chest on both arms as if struggling to hold herself upright. The feeling of her walls around his cock, clenching and trembling in familiar, greedy spasms, is enough to shove him closer to the edge, so quick it makes his head spin.

He won’t last much longer like this and he knows it. It’s some physiological anomaly that he’s lasted this long at all.

“I’m-” he chokes out, growling. “I’m gon… Sara-”

“ _No_.”

Leonard blinks, and meets her eyes, and there’s fire in hers suddenly; fierce determination. No. She’d told him _no_.

What the fuck does she mean _no_?

He scowls, swallowing every urge inside him, every bone in his body screaming at him to let go, explode inside her, come and come and come until he has nothing left in him but somehow he refrains. “Huh?”

“Don’t,” she pants, her hips still moving swiftly, albeit a little choppily and not as graceful as before. She keens like some spoiled child, selfish and not giving one single fuck about him. “D-don’t. I need it, again. Again.”

More. She wants more. And he has nothing _more_ to give her, nothing at all, he’s given her all the _more_ he has and so he scowls, bewildered, helpless to do anything but watch her ride him with abandon, watch her bring them both closer to the edge. Subjected to her cruelty. Her slave.

“I can’t,” he groans, fingernails digging into her hips. “I – Sara, fuckin’ _Christ_ …”

“No. N-no, wait. Wait. I need it.” She clenches her jaw, seething atop him. “Don’t you _dare_ come, babe. Not yet, I swear-”

 _Hell_.

He’s not sure his dick can handle her. He’s not sure _he_ can handle her.

It’s all a blur, after that, so fast Leonard blinks and it’s done. She breaks again, comes, coming all over him and his cock and rocking on top of him, nearly going cross-eyed, awash in sensation as she is. He loses it too, finally, kept on the brink for so long that his orgasm feels more like relief than actual pleasure, and he empties himself into her, exploding hot inside her, no condom, no nothing, no barrier in the way; just all of his bare cock and all of her cunt united. Joined. Like they should be.

Leonard knows damn well he’s not going to heaven. He thinks this is probably as close to heaven as he’s ever gonna get, right here, being fucked half to death by Sara Lance.

“ _Shit_ ,” he remarks rather eloquently, after Sara has rolled off of him and nestled herself in at his side. He shakes his head, trying to make his vision stop spinning. “Fuck, that was…something.”

Sara wipes her mouth off, letting out a shaky breath. “Sorry. I don’t… I don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t apologize.” He rolls over onto his side to face her, voice steadier now. “You, uh… feel better now? Met your orgasm quota?”

“Yeah.” She laughs, freely, deep in her chest. “Yeah, I think I did. I just… _wow_.”

“Wow is right,” he chuckles, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “If I’d known the sex was gonna be like that I’dve knocked you up a _long_ time ago.”

She scoffs, but it morphs into another carefree laugh, he really loves that. “Yeah, well… maybe I can get used to this whole being pregnant thing if it comes with perks like that.”

He teases, inching closer to her. “I’m up for a next time. As many next times as you want.”

“Mmm. I’ll keep that in mind,” she hums drowsily, giving him a lazy little grin. “Next time.”

And yeah, Leonard thinks, as she drifts off, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. Pregnancy _is_ one hell of a strange, beautiful, messy, wild, fucked-up journey.

And he’s more than happy to go along for the ride with her, in whatever capacity she wants. 


End file.
